


Allegrezza

by ktbl



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fandom Blind, Fluff and Smut, Married Sex, Oral Sex, Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24503974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl
Summary: “Hey, gorgeous.”She looks up from her drink, tilting her head with a hint of a smirk playing across her face. “Sorry, waiting for someone.” She looks too beautiful - there’s a hint of makeup along her eyes, her lips are reddened with lipstick, and her hair is in a loose braid, a few golden strands hanging down to frame her face.“That’s unfortunate. Think he’s gonna show?”“Who said it was a guy?” She leans back a little, and then has her own grin at the look of startled surprise across his face. “It is, but he’d better. He’s stood me up for about two months now. If he doesn’t show tonight I’m gonna go find myself a new one.”
Relationships: Sonya Blade/Johnny Cage
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Allegrezza

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Much of the world is having a tremendously terrible time right now, so I am throwing this out there as maybe one less awful thing that can cheer someone up. It's not quite as finished as I'd like, but I think the world could use a little more fluffy smut at the moment.

It didn’t happen often - only once or twice a year, if she was honest with herself. Wasn’t sure she could do more than that. Too much like pretend, too much like acting, even when she didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t. Still, they’d started making it a habit, a tradition, as infrequent as it was. Johnny would come back from location filming or finish wrapping on something that had kept him with an awful schedule, and she would get a babysitter, and they’d have one night, one stupid ridiculous night.

She eyes the clothes laid out on the bed before her shower, snorts, and shakes her head. You’re a piece of work, Sonya - and that’s saying something. She’d gone back and forth about a skirt, but she owned only her uniform skirts, and wasn’t about to pull one of those on for tonight. She plans on getting up to some decidedly questionable actions tonight that would absolutely not bring honor to the service.

The abrupt sound of her phone ringing breaks through her contemplation, and she accepts the call, thumbing the speaker button and then dropping the phone on the bed.

“Blade. You’re on speaker.”

“Hey, gorgeous.” Johnny’s voice is clear and crisp. “Just landed. We still on?”

“Yeah.” Sonya speaks loudly into the room as she wraps her hair up in a towel. “Got the babysitter coming in half an hour, I’ll be out in forty-five as long as there aren’t any meltdowns.”

“Perfect. Sounds like by the time I get home, cleaned up, and out the door, you’ll be long gone.”

“Same place as usual?”

“Yeah. Get a ride over, I’ll handle getting us home.”

She grins at the phone, satisfied that he can’t see her. “Don’t worry about that. Got a surprise.”

“This being you, babe, I can’t decide if I’m terrified or excited.”

“Be honest, Cage. It’s a little bit of both.”

He laughs, and she feels her heart skip a beat and her insides twist at the sound, and it terrifies her.

“You got me. See you soon, Sonya. Missed you.”

“Good. Prove it. Blade out.”

He walks in, eyes skimming the room. Music pulses and throbs, heavy on the bass and good dancing beats, and it’s the kind of place he would have spent a night getting drunk and probably high, a decade ago. But he’s got different priorities right now, and he can’t find where his number one is. He hears murmurs of his name as he works his way around the edge of the dance floor, glancing briefly at booths and tables, until his eyes catch sight of her.

There, standing at a table by the bar, a pair of black pants and tall lace-up leather boots and damn it, it was half the outfit from the first tournament, or close enough. Not the vest thing, which she’d sworn off, but a shirt with half-sleeves and a deep vee in the front. She is alone, but he’s pretty sure she hadn’t been alone for long - heads kept turning in her direction. A little voice in his head starts snarling possessively. _Mine mine mine mine mine_.

He doesn’t slow his pace, doesn’t change it one whit, until he stops in front of her table and flashes that broad trademark smile, tilting his sunglasses down slightly.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

She looks up from her drink, tilting her head with a hint of a smirk playing across her face. “Sorry, waiting for someone.” She looks too beautiful - there’s a hint of makeup along her eyes, her lips are reddened with lipstick, and her hair is in a loose braid, a few golden strands hanging down to frame her face.

“That’s unfortunate. Think he’s gonna show?”

“Who said it was a guy?” She leans back a little, and then has her own grin at the look of startled surprise across his face. “It is, but he’d better. He’s stood me up for about two months now. If he doesn’t show tonight I’m gonna go find myself a new one.”

“Well, let me apologize on behalf of the male gender, because anyone who keeps you waiting for more than a minute is an idiot.”

“You can tell him that,” she says with a slow smile. “You looking for someone tonight?”

“My wife.” He reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a plain gold ring, holding it between his fingertips. “You left this at home.”

“Wasn’t sure how far you wanted to play this tonight. Didn’t want to bring it and spoil your fun, or risk losing it jammed in a pocket,” she says wryly, and he looks offended for a moment before letting it fade away.

“Much as I like watching everyone flock around you, babe, you’re mine and I’m gonna make sure everyone knows it.” He slides the band around her left ring finger, and then folds her fingers down into a fist, securing it there. He looks down at her face, grinning stupidly, leaning down to her. “Missed you.”

“Yeah, I figured you did.” She looks up indolently at him, pursing her lips in consideration as she swirls the liquid in her cup around. “Maybe missed you a little too, if I think about it,” she allows.

“If you think about it,” he huffs indignantly, and she laughs. “Woman, I have spent hours - probably cumulative days, at this point - thinking about what I wanted to do to you when I got home. I have been thinking about fucking you for two months,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She sucks in a short breath - that means it’s loud enough for other people to hear, too, if they’re close enough. It’s hard to swallow for a moment, and her muscles tense. He loves to talk, a flagrant exhibitionist (as if half of this city wasn’t), and she’s never quite come to terms with it. Sometimes she manages to block it out, or pretend there’s no one else around, and then it’s not so bad. He keeps talking, stepping around the table to stand beside her. He presses the line of his shoulders, his arms, his hip and thigh, against hers. “And here we are, somewhere that I can see half the guys here - and some of the women - staring at you. You’ve been sitting here turning every single one of them down and I know they’ve been thinking about getting their hands on you, because how couldn’t they? You look so fucking good, Sonya. Want to find a dark corner - or not even a dark corner, and-“

“Put that mouth of yours to good use?” She takes a sip from her glass, looking at him sidelong, at the half-laugh and the way he shakes his head.

He swallows, looking at her and the cleavage bared by the deep vee of her tee shirt. He looks her over slowly and deliberately and his eyes hit her hips, that high-watt grin splits his face again.

“Oh, you finally figured it out.” She picks up her drink and smiles into the cup, a little secretively.

“You stole one of my belts.” It’s thin, and it not as flashy as he liked - it was, he admitted once, one of his least favorite ones. But it says CAGE in inch high letters spaced out across the buckle, and she obviously snagged it out of his stash. His stomach twists, and something else substantially lower follows suit. He thinks, then, that he realized what it must be like, must feel like, with a partner into kinky things, with collars and chains and yes mistress no sir.She has never taken his name, and is Mrs. Blade-Cage in jest more than anything. His name across her, set over her hips, set thoughts and fantasies flying faster than a harried PA on set.

“You weren’t wearing it, and I needed one.”

“Looks good on you. And at least I know how that one works - not like your damned work belts.” He ran a thumb across the letters, and grinned again, proud and possessive.

“All the better to get it off me later, then?”

“Uh-huh.”

She finishes her drink, the ice cubes clinking in the bottom. “Get yourself a drink. Get me another, and you can tell me how much you missed me, since I know you want to.”

“Whatcha drinking?”

“We’ll see how much you remember.”

“Unhelpful,” he mutters, still smiling. “Sexy as hell, and unhelpful.”

“Hey, you married me. You have only yourself to blame.” She runs a fingernail down the column of his throat, dragging it down with deliberate slowness, down his shirt to his own belt buckle. “There’s a booth back there that’s just cleared up. You get drinks, I’ll meet you there.”

“She’s sending me away and hasn’t even kissed me yet. Bitch.” He makes a feigned frown of dismay, and she smacks him in the shoulder lightly.

“You want to stand here in front of everyone? I figured a nice booth in a nice dark corner-“

“Right behind you, gorgeous.”

She takes her time to look him over as he crosses the club to her, weaving through the throng of bodies. He’s built for hand-to-hand combat, muscled and not quite brawny, but clearly ready to go for hours. Even if he’s just been running lines all day every day for two long months, he’s kept in shape because he does action movies, and there are fight scenes, and he’s too proud - too conceited - for stuntmen and stand-ins unless the studio insists. He’s been working out and training; she can tell.

A smile dances at the edges of her mouth as she can see the shirt pull against his chest, not uncomfortably tight enough for the outline of muscles, but tight enough to draw the eye, and it didn’t fit that way when he left. No, it’s a little smaller now. And there’s the black pants, and a ridiculous belt buckle, big and flashy, and the shit-eating grin on his face. He’s got an ego big enough to fill this entire nightclub, and he can be an idiot and an asshole, but damn, he’s good looking.

He smiles and flirts his way to her, because he’s Johnny Cage and he can’t see a woman without flirting. She watches him, watches him watch her as he can’t quite focus on anyone else. He makes his excuses and almost slams the glasses down on the table, sliding into the booth next to her, one hand closing around the curve of her thigh. The drinks are forgotten as he edges as close to her as he can get, pulls her onto his lap, and tangles his hands into her braid. It’s hard to tell who makes the first move, mouths already half-open when they meet.

They know how to fit together easily even after so long, and her tongue slides against his, trying to capture and claim every bit of him she can. He’s more than willing, and they spend long minutes as hot and handsy as a pair of teenagers could ever hope to be, checking and remembering and claiming. They’re flushed and breathing shakily when Sonya pulls back, sliding their drinks closer.

He slides a hand up her shirt with one hand, taking his drink in the other.

“So, come here often?”

“That’s a shit line and you know it,” she laughs, smacking at him lightly. His hand cups one breast and he begins to idly knead it, thumb circling her nipple.

“Hey, figure it might work one of these days.”

“Right.” She picks up her own glass and shifts so she’s sitting on one of his thighs. His hand drops from her breast to curl around her waist, keeping her tucked tight against him, hooking one of his legs around hers. “Have you ever had luck with it?”

“Not yet,” he admits, taking a drink and then chasing it with a lazy kiss to the side of her neck. His hand drifts back up, beneath her shirt, reclaiming its place. “So, how have you been, babe? Same shit, different day?”

“Pretty much.” She wiggles on his lap and he inhales quickly, squeezing at her breast. “Maybe a little boring, even.”

“Oh, boring? We’ll fix that right away.” He noses away some of her hair and licks at the shell of her ear, tugs gently on her earlobe with his teeth. “Though, that said - you ready to head home? I got you something.”

“In the morning.” She leans back, reaches into a pocket and pulls out a plastic keycard, holding it between two fingers. “We’re not going home tonight.”

“Wait, what?”

She waggles it between her fingers, and then pockets the keycard again. “Like I said, we’re not going home tonight. Got us a room at the nice place down the road. Otherwise you know exactly what’s gonna happen.” She reaches back, undoes the straggling remnant of her braid and gathers it all into a ponytail instead, tugging it tight.

“And I do not want to be interrupted. Let’s get out of here and you can take me to that nice room and let me do terrible things to you.”

“Can’t we at least finish our drinks first?” Her voice has a hint of pleading and exasperation in it, and he laughs, thumb circling her nipple. “Without someone asking for a sip, or me feeling guilty about drinking at home.”

“I think we can manage that.”

She leans back against him, tipping her head against his shoulder, and drops her free hand down between his legs. She smirks a little at the bulge, and he shrugs.

“I desperately want to get laid, what do you expect? There’s a hot woman sitting on my lap and I’ve got my hands all over her tits, and all I can think about is fucking her silly.”

“So you just want me for my body. Got it.” She squeezes just hard enough to be felt, and his body’s response to that is sudden and undeniable, a shudder that she can feel. “Nice to know I’m wanted.”

“Wanted? You’re the embodiment of MILF.”

“Jesus,” she moans, hanging her head and laughing. “You’re pretty much relying on me being desperate, aren’t you? God knows if you tried this shit with me and we weren’t married, you’d be leaving the bar alone. You’re terrible.”

“But I’m _yours_ ,” he points out. “You married me. You knew this when we started.”

“I did,” she agrees, and takes another long drink. “I’ve got to be losing my grip.”

“Nope, it’s good where it is.” He grins again, draining his glass in several long swallows. She squeezes him again and listens to him suddenly inhale. “Yeah. It’s good,” he chokes out. “Definitely good.”

“Excellent.”

Not long after, they stand up and make their way towards an exit. Sonya laces her fingers with his and pulls him to a side exit that opens out into an alley. They go away from the main road, down another alley that almost splits the block, and he makes it ten steps before he can’t restrain himself anymore. The combination of what walking in those heels does things to her ass, the little bounce and jiggle of her breasts, and the throbbing erection between his legs breaks the last link of his self-control, and he pins her against the wall, nudging her legs apart with a knee.

“So, got plans for the night, sexy?”

She reaches up with her hands and pulls him down to her lips. She kisses him fast and rough, tongue darting into his mouth. He tastes like whatever fancy cocktail he’d had, sweet sugar and the fierce burn of alcohol and something faintly minty. He makes a noise of surprise and satisfaction, throwing a hand up against the wall.

“Getting you to a bed and getting you horizontal,” she says roughly. “But that can wait, maybe.”

“I’ve been shooting on the other side of the world for two months, and she says it can wait.” He snorts, leaning down to nip a trail up her neck to the soft skin beneath her jaw. “And yet here you are.”

“And here I am. I can think of a few ways to keep busy, though.”

“Like what?”

Her hands begin working his belt, muttering a string of curses that make him raise his eyebrows. Finally she frees it with a victorious exclamation, and the heavy belt buckle hangs loose.

“You really don’t like them, do you?”

“Not when they’re in my way.” She looks at him through thick lashes. “Look, if you want me to stop-“

“No, no, no,” he promises, hand spread out on the wall by her shoulders, fingertips digging into the weathered mortar between the bricks. He kisses her again, greedy, when she reaches into his pants and palms his cock. He lets out a needy whine, and she pulls her head back, letting it rest against the wall as she rubs at him. “Fuck, Sonya-“

“That’s the plan.” She watches his face for the first signs of strain to appear. “But I figure poor you deserves a little fun before we get to that.” And maybe it will be fun for her - she’s hoping it will.

He grunts, and she moves her hand away just long enough to pull his cock out of the boxer briefs. He shudders at the touch of the cool night air, and then at her fingers again.

“Keep this up, babe, and I won’t be long.”

“Kinda the point. Means we have some time to enjoy in blissful privacy, instead of you fucking me against some alley wall.” She raises an eyebrow. “I mean, unless you want me to put this back-“

He makes an indeterminate noise and shakes his head, reaching for her hair, pulling her into a desperate kiss. “You have any idea- fucking you here, if you had a skirt on I swear to God, Sonya-“

“Put it on the list, and maybe for your birthday. Or for mine.” She finally does take her hand away, met his eyes, and then slowly sinks down to her knees. Part of her thrills at this, the nebulous risk of getting caught, and it sends another shock of arousal through her body. She isn’t Lieutenant Colonel Blade, kneeling in a sketchy alley two blocks away from a club, on the way to a hotel room. Lieutenant Colonel Blade would die before she ever did that. But a woman with poor impulse control who hasn’t gotten properly laid in two months, and her husband just come home? Well, that’s a completely different matter, and maybe there was a little bit of the exhibitionist in her after all.

“Baby, you don’t have to…”

“Call me baby again and I won’t. Tell me you don’t want me to, and I will stop right now.”

“No, I want you to.” His breath hitches and he reaches a hand down, along the side of her face. “Just - don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“Then shut up and stop complaining.” She didn’t think this through - her boots are the worst choice for this, no matter how much they reliably get him hot and bothered - but too late now. She opens her mouth and takes him in, working her tongue along his length until she’s taken all she can. He trembles, pressing one hand hard against the wall to support himself, the other dropping down not to her head, but to where one of her hands rests on his thigh. He laces his fingers with hers and squeezes tightly, soft moans and grunts growing louder. She hums, feels him twitch in her mouth, and takes her free hand and begins working whatever part of him isn’t in her mouth, feeling him jerk and shudder. He’s talking, a string of endearments and obscenities and praise, and she tunes out the finer details - he’s enjoying himself, and so is she. There’s no small amount of pleasure to be found in making Johnny Cage incapable of coherent speech.

She looks up again, and would grin if it wasn’t so difficult with him filling her mouth. His breathing’s gone ragged, and he’s holding himself up by that one hand on the wall, eyes half-lidded and looking down at her with full-blown lust. His mouth hangs open, except for the moments like now when she draws off, licks the tip, and he bites his lower lip.

“Enjoying yourself?” She asks, hand sliding and twisting along his length, and he chokes off a growl.

“Sonya,” he whines, hand clenching hers.

“If you’re not, I’ll stop.”

“No, fuck, didn’t say that. Just - _fuck_ ,” and he makes a series of inarticulate sounds, thrusting into her hand. “Getting off in an alley was not how I planned this.”

“I want to take my sweet time in bed. I have selfish motives.” She licks the underside of his cock, looking up at him, and he sucks in a breath.

“This is what I get for marrying a tactical genius.”

“Only yourself to blame.” She circles him with her tongue again, takes him into her mouth. He moans, loud and unabashed, and she feels her cheeks warm. Her nose is full of the smell of him, fresh from the shower and soap, but musk and need is thick in her nose as well. She feels his fingers in her hair, tugging her upwards. She lets him go with an audible pop as she rises. He puts one hand under her elbow and helps her rise up, and then pushes her into the wall, kissing her roughly and deeply. Her other hand remains busy, and his tongue is busy in her mouth when he tenses, an orgasm crashing through him sooner than he expected. She doesn’t let go, doesn’t stop stroking and twisting, until he’s done.

“Fuck,” he groans, slumping against her. She chuckles and presses a kiss to his temple.

“Yeah, so now that you got that out of your system, you’ll actually be good for one. Think you can walk a couple of blocks?”

“Could just stay here and do that again,” he tells her shirt solemnly. She huffs, reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out a packet of tissues.

“You might like getting off in an alley, but I got us a hotel room for a reason. Clean up, pack it up, and let’s go.” She pulls out a couple of tissues, looking at her pants and holding in a sigh - they’re not wrecked, but they’re definitely a casualty. She wipes off the worst of it, wadding the tissues up and jamming them back in her pocket until she can find a trash can.

“You’re a buzzkill,” Johnny tells her shirt again, tugging at the fabric with his teeth before stepping back and taking the tissues. “Hot, and I love you, but you’re a buzzkill.”

“You’re the one who had me move,” she says pointedly, and hooks her thumbs into the belt on either side of the CAGE buckle.

“I have regrets.”

A few minutes later they’re walking towards the hotel, his arm settled snugly around her waist, breathing in the smell of her and reminding himself what it’s like to walk with her. Sonya never dawdles; she always walks with a purpose, and the day she stops to smell the roses is the day he checks to see if Quan Chi has taken her form. He brushes hair away from her neck, kisses the side of it while they wait at a crosswalk. She smells so damn good, cinnamon and citrus and the faint smell of whatever they were pumping through the ducts of the club, and under all of it the faintest musky smell. After jungle and rain and humidity and rotting vegetation, she is everything right in the world.

And everything is right, as they cross the street and she flashes her keycard to the night receptionist, along with a nod. They disappear to the elevator bank and up to not quite the top floor. He raises a brow when they step off, and she leads him directly to a room. She slips inside, drops the keycard in the slot by the door, and his hands are reaching for her the minute both of hers are free.

“God, babe, I missed you. I really, really did.” He runs his hands along her arms, her waist, her hips, keeping her at arm’s length for a moment. It’s hard, unbelievably fucking hard - much like his dick is again - but he wants to make sure nothing’s changed too much. She looks tired, a little harder, the soft edges worn away. He’s going to have to fix that, make her take some time off, have a couple nights of beer and pizza and popcorn and movies. He pulls her close and his hands glide up from her waist over her breasts, up to her neck and then along her shoulders, stripping the jacket off of her. He slides his hands down her arms, lacing his fingertips with hers for a moment. All of it’s a chance to get his hands on her, but also to check her over in a way she’d never allow if she thought he meant it. He can feel her ribs and her wristbones in a way he shouldn’t be able to. He pulls one hand up to his mouth and sucks at the soft web of skin between her thumb and index finger, nipping at it gently, and plants a trail of kisses up her arm to the sleeve of her shirt.

“Missed you too, for some reason I fail to comprehend,” she says, and he grins, knowing it’s as good an admission as he can expect.

“You’re wearing a hell of a lot for my welcome home. Let’s get you out of those dirty clothes, get you into something more comfortable. Like the bed.”

“And whose fault is that? I liked these pants.”

“Oh, and like you weren’t enjoying yourself.” He snorts, pulling her closer for a kiss, wrapping her ponytail around his hand. “You are the hottest thing on two legs.” She tips her head back and shudders as he tugs gently on it, and their mouths meet hard, almost bruisingly so. His tongue slides across hers and he could lose himself in her, breathing in her air. He loves making movies, loves the fighting and the acting and the lights, and even the travel, but he loves coming home to her even more.

They take shared steps backwards towards the bed, and he wants to lay her out and reclaim every inch of her body. He manages to pull himself away from her lips, which might be the most impressive feat of self-control he’s ever engaged in, and her shirt is off before he can work her out of it. She hits the bed and topples back on it, then sits up, hands at the edge of the bed. He drops to his knees at the side of the bed, grins up at her, and begins unclipping the CAGE buckle at her hips with reverent hands. He’s less focused while undoing the button and zipper on her pants, and works them slowly down, revealing the muscled legs he loves, until they hit the top of her boots.

“Making me work for it?”

“You like them.”

“I do, but not getting them off you.”

“Same way I feel about your belt buckles,” she says, and he is utterly, impossibly hard at the sight of her smile. He fumbles at the laces, swearing at every single eyelet on her boots, cursing them with every breath in his body. He will buy her a new pair just like this but with zippers on the sides, he will get a shoemaker to make her a pair if he has to, because if he can’t get her pants off immediately, he will lose his mind. One boot and then the other, and he lets out a hiss of victory. Her pants are off and on the ground and he buries his face between her legs, inhaling the musky scent of her arousal. He lifts one leg up over each shoulder, pressing his nose into the damp satin.

“You definitely missed me,” he says with satisfaction, mouthing at her through the fabric. He runs his hands along her legs, and he’s not sure if it’s masochism on his part to tease it out for himself, or to maybe, just maybe, make her lose it and beg. It’s rare, but it has happened, and maybe if he’s extra lucky she will tonight. She got a hotel room, after all. Hell, she gave him head in public, and that’s pushing her boundaries. He kisses the inside of each of her thighs until he manages to coax a throaty moan out of her. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs, feeling a heel press into his back. “Talk to me, babe. I want to hear it, I want to hear you. I’ve missed you, missed this, too fucking much to have you be quiet.”

He moves aside the satin blocking him from one of his favorite things, and licks the length of her cunt, making a happy hum. He moves just a bit, and adjusts his position so he can stroke her with one hand, playing his fingers across her wetness. He looks up, watching her face as his composed soldier begins to crack. She looks down at him, biting down on her lip, nudging herself forward and arching her hips towards him.

“You are so damn wet.” His voice is thick with want. “I’ve spent hours thinking about this, how good you smell, how good you taste.” He slides one finger into her, and then a second, exhaling in satisfaction as he hears her groan. His eyes are on her as he starts working his fingers and his eyes on her face for just a little bit more, until her eyes close and her head lolls back.

“Please,” and she licks her lips, grinding down on his hand. “Johnny, for fuck’s sake-“

“Any requests?”

“Shut up, and don’t stop.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He can’t keep from smiling as he goes down on her, urged on by the noises she makes and the way her heel digs into his back and the increasing pressure of her thighs around his head. He works to coax moans out of her, and tries to ignore the growing discomfort of his erection. He stops for a moment and hears her thump a fist on the bed, the sound of a hand clutching a sheet. She shifts her position with a quiet whine, and he begins to work his tongue and fingers in the same rhythm. He loves this, making her fall apart, the proof that even if everything else in the world has gone to hell, he still can make her happy. It does not take much longer until she tightens around his fingers, her legs squeezing hard around his head, and makes a wordless cry that probably can be heard in the next room over.

Damn, he loves his wife.

She drops back, limp and suffused with pleasure, onto the bed. One eye opens and sees up Johnny hastily pulling off his shirt, and she scrambles back, pushing aside the bedcovers until she’s stretched out on the sheets. She is impressed by how fast he sheds his clothes, and rolls out of the way as he takes a giddy, childlike leap onto the bed and gathers her up in his arms.

“Got you,” he says with satisfaction.

“Not like I was running.”

“Hey, you were running pretty hard for a few years, wasn’t sure I’d ever catch you.” He kisses the crown of her head, and she stretches herself along him, twining her legs with his. “Not ever going to let you go.” His hands curl reflexively around her, and she can relax, for a little bit. There’s no one calling for her, her phone is silent, and they’ve gotten the first fierce explosions of lust and need out of their systems. She can feel his cock pressed against her, hot and hard against her stomach. It seems like right now he’s not going to jump to indulging it, and instead just holds onto her.

“So the hotel room…?” She stops midway, and he nods quickly, peppering her cheek, her forehead, her nose, with tiny kisses. It’s almost - cute.

“Good call. Don’t want to be interrupted, want to take my time with you until your eyes cross.” She snorts, turns her head to his chest so he can’t see her smile. She begins to mark his chest with kisses, long licks of her tongue across him, and listens to the hitch of his breathing. He’s easy to know, easy to please; out of everything in her life, Johnny Cage is the least complicated thing there is. She moves back up, swinging a leg over his hip and cupping his face in her hands, kissing him ardently. He rests one hand at the small of her back, the other sliding between her legs to the sensitive folds of her cunt.

He runs a finger along her, and she nudges herself forward, ever so slightly. It’s enough encouragement that he slides one finger into her, moving slow and steady in her heat and wetness. She moans into his mouth, grinding her hips down against his hand. He lets out a happy half-chuckle, still busily kissing her, and adds a second finger, twisting his hand, working back and forth, in and out, in leisurely strokes. Pleasure begins to spread through her, and as he begins to work his thumb against her clit, she can’t help but arch her back and let out a shuddered breath. It’s good - it’s more than good; she can relax her body into this, doesn’t have to worry about anyone banging on the door, calling with an emergency. She lets the warmth and pleasure fill her until she’s nearly boneless, though part of her has begun to twist and tighten again with wanting.

He withdraws his fingers, brings them up to his mouth and licks them off one by one with that damned cocky grin on his face. He rolls onto his back, tugs gently at her thighs with his hands, and mock-pouts.

“So you really don’t want to do any work, huh?” She kisses him, chuckling, and swings a leg over to straddle him, resting back on her thighs just behind his cock.

“I’ll last longer this way,” he says bluntly, “and I kind of feel like tonight I’m going to need every second I can get. I just -“ He pauses, looking up and meeting her eyes. “I just want to fuck you right now. I can’t take this any more.”

She laughs, a full-throated laugh that crinkles the corners of her eyes. “And who’s the one inclined to tactics now, huh?” It’s true, though, and they both know it. His hands drop onto her hips, and he tugs at her, but she doesn’t move.

“Come on, gorgeous. I want you. I want to be inside you.”

“Well,” she says, rising up, “since you asked so nicely.” She adjusts her position and feels the head of his cock sliding along her. Once she feels him in the right position, she begins to slide down with infinite patience - or possibly infinite malice, given the way he’s biting on his lower lip and trying to pull her hips down faster. She savors the sensation of him filling her, the slow stretch as her body adjusts to fit him. Once she has him settled within her to the base, she leans forward, breasts brushing against his chest, to cup his face with one hand and kiss him.

“I missed this,” he murmurs against her lips. “You’re so hot, so wet, you feel fucking perfect.”

“Well,” she admits with a grin, “you fit pretty well.” She circles her hips ever so slightly and feels him buck up into her. It starts the rhythm, and she begins to rise and fall, sliding up and down his length. She pauses at the peak a few times, sliding down just a bit, enough to keep the head of his cock inside her. He moans, a guttural sound of pure want, and tries to pull her down, but she is strong enough to resist him. “Patience, you.”

“Can’t, don’t want to, patience is for other people with less sexy wives.” She wants to reach out and stroke his face, drag her nails down his chest, stake her claim. So she does, and she watches with satisfaction as he leans into it, moans at her touch, trying to pull her down, pull himself deeper into her, get as close to her as he can. It won’t be enough - it’s never enough, when they’re like this. They build a rhythm that goes from slow and easy teasing upwards, faster and harder. Every descent she can grind her clit against him, and he can tell she’s getting close, the way her head is back and the noises coming out of her mouth. He’s not far off himself, the warmth and sensation of being inside her almost overwhelmingly, maddeningly good.

The intensity of her orgasm surprises her, a sudden burst of heat at the base of her spine roaring across her body, up and along every nerve. Her toes curl and he thrusts up again into her as she drives herself down once more, hard and fierce, wanting to capture all of him inside her. His fingers dig hard into her thighs, and his breath catches as his back arches off the bed in his own orgasm. Everything sensitive is abruptly moreso, and even the touch of his hands on her is almost overwhelming.

“Sonya-“ Anything else is lost in a wordless gasp as he holds her tightly to him. She slides up and then back down once, and it’s enough to elicit a moan that is almost a whine. She feels his hips buck into her once, twice more, and then he is still, except for fingertips that knead gently into the muscle of her legs. “Fuck.”

“Just did, yes,” she says with a tongue that’s suddenly heavy and hard to work. She drops her head, blonde hair spilling over both of them in a curtain, and kisses him long and slow. His arms wrap around her, pulling her down to his chest.

“Best wife,” he announces. “My wife is the best wife.”

She is grateful he can’t see her face, the smile curving her mouth. She mouths at the muscle of his shoulder, nuzzling at him, savoring the way their heartbeats pound in time together. “Of course I am.” She shifts a bit, rests her chin on his chest. “And my husband’s pretty good, too.”

“Pretty good? Only ‘pretty good’?” He struggled for an indignant expression.

“Well. You can try to prove you’re more than pretty good. We do have all night.” She grins. “Like I’ve said, I’ve been neglected for two months.”

“And I’ve had two months of planning. Just give me ten minutes.” He pauses, looks sidelong towards the bathroom. “I think I remember this place having a pretty spacious shower…”


End file.
